Todays "sheduled" post will have to wait.
I think the worst two things that can happen in a persons life are either losing a child, or any assault on one's physical integrity.
My friend- and many like her- suffered the last. Any other story today seemed inappropriate. I cried for her today. The worst thing was her story did not even surprise me.
Read it here:
Charlotte Desorgher: darkness at the heart of bellydance
Tuesday 28 August 2012
Tuesday 21 August 2012
Past: The Armenian Party
I don't drive. So I always need to bring someone to drive me to gigs. But I am also glad for the company, the help... and in this case, well. It would have been a lot scarier on my own.
I got hired, through confused emails and even more confused phone calls with Lady Organiser to dance at a party, on a docked cruise ship, for an Armenian cultural organisation, "promoting Armenian culture". The penny did not drop then but did once we arrived in Antwerp.
We arrive a little late, after getting lost in the docks/harbour. It is dark. It is in the middle of nowhere. The area around the venue is very dodgy looking. And already I am very happy I am not on my own.
The venue is hilarious. Departed glory. You know... when you can see something used to be fancy and luxurious, but it is totally run down now, but you can sort of still feel and smell the old luxury. That was, not is. The cruise ship is from Norway and from 1952. And it doesn't look like the furniture and upholstery have been renewed since.
Outside on the parking lot are men with their girlfriends of the decorative type. I am not the one wearing the most make up. Men in business suits, with bankrolls sticking out of their pockets, smoking cigarettes. And ladies in very fancy but rather short dresses and killerheels who all look like models. And OMG is that a gun? We're not sure. There seem to be some security type guys around as well.
Inside are more of the fashion model women and of the men in suits, and also some elderly gentlemen and older ladies dressed in black with big scarves around their shoulders, and dressed like my stereotype of russian widows.
I get shown the dance floor and the dressing rooms.
I ask to speak to the DJ. He turns out to be of the "I am so important"-type. Who also speaks no language I understand. I give him the cd. Which has three songs on it and has 1+2+3 written on it. Quite clearly. I tell the girl that brought me in and does speak English that it is my cd and that I am dancing to the three songs on it. She translates. He doesn't listen and brushes us off.
So, I am taken to the dressing room. The other act they booked is a singer with some Eastern European go go girls. They are wearing yellow fluorescent mini dresses and apart from their private parts and nipples pretty much most of them is on show.... Okaay.....
Their leery male manager refuses to leave the dressing room. Does not understand my assistant or my hints of the "Artemisia needs to get changed" variety. I am really not the prudish type, especially not when it's about fellow artists in a dressing room male or female. I get changed anywhere, but this just did not feel OK, so I decide I'll go change in the loos when the time is there.
And then we wait, and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. It is running very late. Russian gogo girls have no idea when we are on either. I send assistant to go find Lady Organiser. She comes back and says Lady Organiser gave her brush of. I am still in my civies so i decide to go find her myself. She is talking with some guests so I stand around and wait. I don't want to interupt her, but I do try to get her attention. She looks very annoyed that I come and see her when she is with her guests. She walks over. I tell her look, you are running very late, and a little late is OK, but do you have any idea, at all, when I will be on. She says, yes, soon, she is clearly angry, and she walks of. I am not sure if I did the right thing to go find her.
So I wait in the dressing rooms. and wait. and wait. and wait. and wait.
Here comes Lady Organiser. It seems the entertainment program is starting. Finally. Look, she says, we have this tradition. All the entertainers will parade through the building, on Armenian music, in costume. I am to go with the half naked gogo girls and walk around in costume with them. I refuse. She is pissed of. I'll tell her I'll come and take a bow in the performance area when the parade reaches that part, with a veil as cover up, but that I am not parading around the building in costume behind the gogo girls. She talks to the manager of the gogogirls plus singer, clearly complaining about me. and leaves.
So the girls parade and reach the stage, and I go out and take my bow.
We all go backstage. And wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. There are speeches. There is some kind of lottery. There is fokloric dancing by men and loud shouting. There are more speeches
finally the singer and the gogo girls go on. and come of stage. and i wait.
suddenly and elderly Armenian lady storms over, and starts pulling my arm. yelling at me. really yelling. the gogo girls, who have already danced once and are now wearing a red skimpy outift manage explaining to me, "she wants you to go dance now". I try explaining it's not my music, but now do realise some vaguely arabicy sounding dj mix is coming out of the speakers. I send my assistent to either go see the DJ or to find Lady Organiser. The Dj brushes her of. Lady Organiser then storms over with her mother, and yells, "what is the problem, you you dance now!". I explain I'll dance once the DJ puts on the cd i gave him earlier. they all look at each other as if i'm crazy. And talk to each other and shake their heads a lot.
Anyway, they go to the dj, and tadaa, there comes my music.
So i come out, and dance my first song. then the music stops. I wave at the dj, yes, continue.
Nothing. I wait. joke around. Audience laughs.
And he puts the first song on, again. I look confused. I guess. Start dancing again. So my assistent walks over. more confusion but they finally do play the rest of the cd. and i even get asked to do an encore for the people on the balcony. I do and I also get tipped well. the audience at least seems really appreciative.
The rest of the story is short: I get changed. we wait around forever for me to get paid. I send assistant over to pissed of Lady Organiser. She sends someone over with the money, including my waiting fee (hallelujah for having added that to the contract). And we leave.
The parking lot going-ons look dodgy. Bored girls in short dresses, fat rolls of bank notes changing hands and yes, that does look like a gun.
Homeward!
Artemisia
Tuesday 14 August 2012
Present: Performance psychology
Talks with students during private classes and master classes, and during the performance related workshops we offer at my interational annual summerschool RAKS BE (www.raks.be) have got me thinking about what it does to a performer to watch other performers.
Me? Easy. It makes me happy! Good performances make me happy, amazing performers put me on a super happy cloud, and beginning performers making an awesome debut, make me extatic.
Watching a good performer who is on before me, in the same show as me, does not make me feel insecure about dancing myself, does not make me doubt my own efforts. Knowing there is someone in the show who I find absolutely breathaking does not make me wonder if I belong on that stage myself.
I think this is one of the main reasons I don't do competitions. Because I do not want to loose this feeling. I know I know, it should be all about competing with yourself, and not others. But points and prizes are being given, and someone will be first, and someone will be last. It is just an emotion I do not wish to bring into my dance life. Because I do now so much enjoy the rest of the show, and I want to continue to be able to fully enjoy the yummieness of others. Feel what their performance is meant to make an audience member feel! What emotions does she share, what story is she telling, what is she giving to you, what sadness or beauty has she made?
It doesn't mean I am not insecure on a stage! Oh boy, I have my insecurities. A post for another day. I have my little ones and big ones. The positive coach needs to be beat my negative demons at almost every performance. And sometimes wins and sometimes doesn't.
But this is not one of my insecurities. I love watching others.
I start all of my private classes with a new student, with a talk about who they are, what their goals are, what their current strenghts and weaknesses are, what makes them happy, what makes them insecure. What in their dancing do they like, and what do they not like. It helps me tremendously to structure their classes with me. To decide together what we need to work on.
I discovered recently to ask them what they feel when they see others dance.
And so much fear, selfdoubt, anxiety pours out. It made me wonder. I tried to understand.
Why is that? Why do other performers that perform, and perform well, make us feel insecure? The answer seems to be that we are doubting if we ourselves should be there. If our "right' to be on that stage is smaller or bigger than anyone elses? Do I belong here? How phoney am I?
See, I've never had that feeling. Oh yes, I am doubting if my stuff is any good. if my stuff is pretty, entertaining, interesting enough, .... for the AUDIENCE. Whomever is that audience, dancers, friends, general public, a theatre audience, people at a private party. Do they like me? do they think I am beautifull? will they have me back? will they tell their friends I was great? will they be entertained? are they LOVING it?
The answer to the question if you should be there, is to be answered in the eyes of the audience.
The other performers are there because the organiser invited them, or because (open stage) they invited themselves. They are somebody elses selection. And you might like some of them, and not others.
So my answer to this question of how to beat your insecurities is not "compete with yourself instead of with others". My answer is don"t compete at all. Not with the others, and not with yourself. Give to your audience. Try to make something to share in a single moment with someone sitting on that chair. Having paid money, or in case of a free show, have chosen to spend time, sitting there, to watch YOU, AND all the others. Entertain them. Dance for them. Try to do a better job, for them.
Artemisia
Me? Easy. It makes me happy! Good performances make me happy, amazing performers put me on a super happy cloud, and beginning performers making an awesome debut, make me extatic.
Watching a good performer who is on before me, in the same show as me, does not make me feel insecure about dancing myself, does not make me doubt my own efforts. Knowing there is someone in the show who I find absolutely breathaking does not make me wonder if I belong on that stage myself.
I think this is one of the main reasons I don't do competitions. Because I do not want to loose this feeling. I know I know, it should be all about competing with yourself, and not others. But points and prizes are being given, and someone will be first, and someone will be last. It is just an emotion I do not wish to bring into my dance life. Because I do now so much enjoy the rest of the show, and I want to continue to be able to fully enjoy the yummieness of others. Feel what their performance is meant to make an audience member feel! What emotions does she share, what story is she telling, what is she giving to you, what sadness or beauty has she made?
It doesn't mean I am not insecure on a stage! Oh boy, I have my insecurities. A post for another day. I have my little ones and big ones. The positive coach needs to be beat my negative demons at almost every performance. And sometimes wins and sometimes doesn't.
But this is not one of my insecurities. I love watching others.
I start all of my private classes with a new student, with a talk about who they are, what their goals are, what their current strenghts and weaknesses are, what makes them happy, what makes them insecure. What in their dancing do they like, and what do they not like. It helps me tremendously to structure their classes with me. To decide together what we need to work on.
I discovered recently to ask them what they feel when they see others dance.
And so much fear, selfdoubt, anxiety pours out. It made me wonder. I tried to understand.
Why is that? Why do other performers that perform, and perform well, make us feel insecure? The answer seems to be that we are doubting if we ourselves should be there. If our "right' to be on that stage is smaller or bigger than anyone elses? Do I belong here? How phoney am I?
See, I've never had that feeling. Oh yes, I am doubting if my stuff is any good. if my stuff is pretty, entertaining, interesting enough, .... for the AUDIENCE. Whomever is that audience, dancers, friends, general public, a theatre audience, people at a private party. Do they like me? do they think I am beautifull? will they have me back? will they tell their friends I was great? will they be entertained? are they LOVING it?
The answer to the question if you should be there, is to be answered in the eyes of the audience.
The other performers are there because the organiser invited them, or because (open stage) they invited themselves. They are somebody elses selection. And you might like some of them, and not others.
So my answer to this question of how to beat your insecurities is not "compete with yourself instead of with others". My answer is don"t compete at all. Not with the others, and not with yourself. Give to your audience. Try to make something to share in a single moment with someone sitting on that chair. Having paid money, or in case of a free show, have chosen to spend time, sitting there, to watch YOU, AND all the others. Entertain them. Dance for them. Try to do a better job, for them.
Artemisia
Saturday 11 August 2012
Past: My first pro gig
So I have been pondering were to start these stories that will be my blog. As i have both stories from the past I want to share, as new and recent experiences. The past stories will lead me to include questions for todays dancers, and the present stories have questions for the future for you and for myself.
But feel free to comment on all of course.
So for today, I thought i'd start by going back about fifteen years. No, no, no, not to my very first bellydance steps, that would be reaching even further back in time (more than 20 years ago, gulp!) but to one of my first "professional" solo gigs. I honnestly can't remember if this was thé first one.
My teacher at the time, Amana from Antwerp, had booked in a gig for a party of a football team and their families, with a lot of Middle Eastern people, near Brussels. And I was send to do it! I was very very very nervous as the set up was a little strange! The patrons of the party were told beforehand that they HAD to tip me, and I would need to count all the tips afterwards in the dressing room, and the organiser would make sure that I made our standard fee, and would top it up if I had not. Weird, and I have never accepted anything like that since.
So anyway, I arrive and .... it will be no surprise to any seasoned dancer, but it was to me ... there was of course nowhere for me to get changed. I had to get in and out of costume in a sort of garage/fridge/pantry, with waiters walking in and out. and it was cold there! I learned to always bring a sweater, something to stand on, and slippers!
I did not yet have a dance name then. But apparantly the organisers had told Amana that my very non exotic real name would NOT do, so she decided I would be "Aisha", for the time being. It ended up being for just the evening. And so this story tells you why I do not have an Arabic dance name today.
I was announced as "Aisha", and as soon as I come out on the dance floor I heard sniggering. That would not stop through out my three sets, which each newcomer to the party being told who i was. 90% of the audience was of Middle Eastern decent, and they could not believe their eyes or ears: a BLOND Aisha, how funny. Haha, a blond Aisha! It went around the room leading to repeated fits of laughter. I wasn't just blond, but also very young, and very very white.
It is funny now, but my barely legal self was mortified. That was it. No Arabic name for me. Ever! No matter what teacher or anyone else wanted! The rest of the story of how the name Artemisia came about, will be for another time.
The dancing went well. Having accompanied my teacher to several gigs in the past, and having danced at professional gigs with her, I was well prepared by her and I did know more or less what to expect. But this was my first Middle Eastern audience. And having people clapping and singing along the whole time, even with songs where I had chosen the instrumental version, was new to me. The music was obviously such a big part of the act for them, not just my dancing, but being happy with the songs I had chosen, and REALLY getting into them. A nice surprise I really have only ever had with the very few gigs for Middle Eastern audiences we get in this country!
But then, the dreaded tipping...... I was not so keen on the system the organiser had insisted on. But hey, teacher had said yes, so so did I. I was very scared. And it must have shown on my face big time. When the first guy, an elderly moroccan man approached me, I must have pulled a face. Because he wispered "don't worry, I will not touch you". And he managed getting the tip in my bra strap without indeed touching me. It went ok, and I learned quickly to have fun with the whole tipping process. Dancing away, making a game out of it, with people that knew how to behave.
Till the end of my last set that is.Then a non middle eastern, but local, white, and rather drunk man, reallly did not know how to behave and how to tip in a "decent" way. He kept trying to shove a note down my bra, and I kept dancing and ducking away. Luckily my driver for the evening (a fellow dancer) was there. That just made me feel safer. And also luckily the rest of the audience had seen my concern and put the guy back down in his chair.
It was an adventure! I was gratefull to my teacher for this opportunity, but also for the preparation I had had beforehand, through going to her gigs with her (sometimes dancing sometimes not).I was informed about what music to choose, how to put a good set together... and I was forewarned about what to do with audience members not respecting my personal space. So it all went rather well!
But I am no Aisha!
And I would love to hear from others who also do not have an Arabic dance name, how that came about!
Artemisia
Ps, Want to know what I looked like then? Some pictures will acompany another story soon! I am also working out how to transfer some old video footage onto dvd!
But feel free to comment on all of course.
So for today, I thought i'd start by going back about fifteen years. No, no, no, not to my very first bellydance steps, that would be reaching even further back in time (more than 20 years ago, gulp!) but to one of my first "professional" solo gigs. I honnestly can't remember if this was thé first one.
My teacher at the time, Amana from Antwerp, had booked in a gig for a party of a football team and their families, with a lot of Middle Eastern people, near Brussels. And I was send to do it! I was very very very nervous as the set up was a little strange! The patrons of the party were told beforehand that they HAD to tip me, and I would need to count all the tips afterwards in the dressing room, and the organiser would make sure that I made our standard fee, and would top it up if I had not. Weird, and I have never accepted anything like that since.
So anyway, I arrive and .... it will be no surprise to any seasoned dancer, but it was to me ... there was of course nowhere for me to get changed. I had to get in and out of costume in a sort of garage/fridge/pantry, with waiters walking in and out. and it was cold there! I learned to always bring a sweater, something to stand on, and slippers!
I did not yet have a dance name then. But apparantly the organisers had told Amana that my very non exotic real name would NOT do, so she decided I would be "Aisha", for the time being. It ended up being for just the evening. And so this story tells you why I do not have an Arabic dance name today.
I was announced as "Aisha", and as soon as I come out on the dance floor I heard sniggering. That would not stop through out my three sets, which each newcomer to the party being told who i was. 90% of the audience was of Middle Eastern decent, and they could not believe their eyes or ears: a BLOND Aisha, how funny. Haha, a blond Aisha! It went around the room leading to repeated fits of laughter. I wasn't just blond, but also very young, and very very white.
It is funny now, but my barely legal self was mortified. That was it. No Arabic name for me. Ever! No matter what teacher or anyone else wanted! The rest of the story of how the name Artemisia came about, will be for another time.
The dancing went well. Having accompanied my teacher to several gigs in the past, and having danced at professional gigs with her, I was well prepared by her and I did know more or less what to expect. But this was my first Middle Eastern audience. And having people clapping and singing along the whole time, even with songs where I had chosen the instrumental version, was new to me. The music was obviously such a big part of the act for them, not just my dancing, but being happy with the songs I had chosen, and REALLY getting into them. A nice surprise I really have only ever had with the very few gigs for Middle Eastern audiences we get in this country!
But then, the dreaded tipping...... I was not so keen on the system the organiser had insisted on. But hey, teacher had said yes, so so did I. I was very scared. And it must have shown on my face big time. When the first guy, an elderly moroccan man approached me, I must have pulled a face. Because he wispered "don't worry, I will not touch you". And he managed getting the tip in my bra strap without indeed touching me. It went ok, and I learned quickly to have fun with the whole tipping process. Dancing away, making a game out of it, with people that knew how to behave.
Till the end of my last set that is.Then a non middle eastern, but local, white, and rather drunk man, reallly did not know how to behave and how to tip in a "decent" way. He kept trying to shove a note down my bra, and I kept dancing and ducking away. Luckily my driver for the evening (a fellow dancer) was there. That just made me feel safer. And also luckily the rest of the audience had seen my concern and put the guy back down in his chair.
It was an adventure! I was gratefull to my teacher for this opportunity, but also for the preparation I had had beforehand, through going to her gigs with her (sometimes dancing sometimes not).I was informed about what music to choose, how to put a good set together... and I was forewarned about what to do with audience members not respecting my personal space. So it all went rather well!
But I am no Aisha!
And I would love to hear from others who also do not have an Arabic dance name, how that came about!
Artemisia
Ps, Want to know what I looked like then? Some pictures will acompany another story soon! I am also working out how to transfer some old video footage onto dvd!
Friday 10 August 2012
A new beginning
Yes, i've done it, a new blog!
My old one dates from 2005. Many of my current dance friends, or even past ones, did not even know me then.
So time for something new. In my "other" life, as a professional historian, i write and talk and write a lot. And I love writing. So i have been thinking how to bring that part of my life into my dance life. And here we are.
I want to talk about being a dancer, a choreographer, a troupe leader, running a dance school, being part of an ever changing dance community, and how to combine running a multi-faceted business and being a dancer, with having a baby! A lot of sharing, some frustrations, a lot of thinking.
I want to talk about how I choreograph and why. About what I feel when I move. About what it is like to run a troupe. About teaching. About teaching dance to women. About totally loving what you do. About love and frustration. And about these fantastic women i get to work with. About all my travels for dance. I want to share pictures, stories, anecdotes. I don't want to limit my online life to oneliners on facebook. And i don't want a blog that is just "hey ME", and marketing. I want to think out loud. Show you the cooking process.
Abut doing this for over 20 years in a changing world.
And yes, right now, one floor up, I have a 17 month old in his bed.
Stay tuned, and share.
Artemisia
My old one dates from 2005. Many of my current dance friends, or even past ones, did not even know me then.
So time for something new. In my "other" life, as a professional historian, i write and talk and write a lot. And I love writing. So i have been thinking how to bring that part of my life into my dance life. And here we are.
I want to talk about being a dancer, a choreographer, a troupe leader, running a dance school, being part of an ever changing dance community, and how to combine running a multi-faceted business and being a dancer, with having a baby! A lot of sharing, some frustrations, a lot of thinking.
I want to talk about how I choreograph and why. About what I feel when I move. About what it is like to run a troupe. About teaching. About teaching dance to women. About totally loving what you do. About love and frustration. And about these fantastic women i get to work with. About all my travels for dance. I want to share pictures, stories, anecdotes. I don't want to limit my online life to oneliners on facebook. And i don't want a blog that is just "hey ME", and marketing. I want to think out loud. Show you the cooking process.
Abut doing this for over 20 years in a changing world.
And yes, right now, one floor up, I have a 17 month old in his bed.
Stay tuned, and share.
Artemisia
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